"I'll bite. Why?" "Because a man alone could go off his rocker thinking the things you think. He needs a girl around." "Does he?" Liddell asked, then waited until Linda had begun to pout before he whirled around and took her in his arms, his back to the blank transfer screen. "Lidd," Linda said. "Ah, Lidd...." But all at once she stiffened in his arms. He could feel her hands against his chest, trying to thrust him away. Her mouth was open but she couldn't speak. With one hand she managed to point. At the surface of the transfer screen. "We're going to have company," Linda finally said. * * * * * Linda was in the galley, whipping up a quick meal. Aside from its complete necessity in making the switch-over from normal space to sub-space and back again, that was one of the functions of the transfer unit. Since many of the outworld colonies still depended entirely on food concentrates and vitashots, a final home-cooked meal would be much appreciated by the traveler through sub-space. "Scared?" Liddell called over his shoulder. "You mean that they won't like my food?" "No, I mean with our first customer?" "I'm too busy with southern fried chicken to be scared." "Funny, isn't it?" Liddell mused. "Fifty years ago if you asked a science writer to whip you up a piece about sub-space what would he have said?" "Oh, something about a silver-hulled space liner shimmering into normal space." Liddell nodded. "Well, they had the shimmering part right, anyway. But it wouldn't have been a space ship." "It wouldn't have been a space ship," Linda agreed. "Because there's no necessity to breathe or to carry out any of the normal biological functions in sub-space. There isn't any heat in sub-space and there isn't any cold. There is only nothingness and nothingness can have absolutely no effect on an organism. In short--" "In short my fried chicken is going to burn if I keep listening to you." "--no spaceships. Just people. Shimmering in and out and spanning the chasm of light years instantly." "Have you any data on our visitors yet?" "Not visitors. Just one. One traveler." "What does the screen say, Lidd?" Liddell read what was there before him for the third time. "Single man. Luna outbound." "Destination?" "It doesn't say. Weight, one ninety. The--" "But we don't collect his fare, so why the business about his weight?" "Didn't you read the instructions, hon? Because it's forwarded from here, just like we'll forward Mister Smith to his destination." "Smith? That's his name?" "John Smith," Liddell said. "I don't believe it. I never thought there actually was anybody named John Smith anywhere, anytime." "We," said Liddell, "have a John Smith." "_Darn_ this deep well cooker! It isn't hot enough yet to put a good crust on--"